


thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze

by staubfingers



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Feelings, Fix-It of Sorts, Hand Jobs, M/M, Season/Series 04, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23535112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staubfingers/pseuds/staubfingers
Summary: Andrés stays, at least for now. (Different ending to that scene from 4x08)
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín
Comments: 22
Kudos: 225





	thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze

**Author's Note:**

> The scene left me heartbroken, and while I hated Palermo throughout most of the season, I can't stop myself from loving him whenever he goes all soft and emotional. And oh boy, did he do that in 4x08. It was really weird to write about him as "Martín" thb, the alias' are just way cooler.  
> There are obviously spoilers for season 4 ahead, so beware, and beware of my school-English and all the mistakes I made, since I wrote it in one setting.  
> Title is from _Devil's Resting Place_ by _Laura Marling_.

He knew this day would come since it always does. They meet, they evoke chaos, they go separate ways. Of course it doesn't make it any easier. As soon as Andrés enters the room, sad, but determind smile on his face and already wearing a coat, Martín knows he's going to leave, is going to forget about the plan, about _him_ , and despite awaiting this day ever since Andrés brought the woman home with him, the certainty hurts more than he ever deemed possible.

Even though he promised himself he wouldn't beg, that he wouldn't give away the desperation he felt for such a long time now, he moves forward, gets closer and closer until they seem to share the same breath.

He laughs, mocks, ignores the stupid _I just like women_ excuse, and is ready for Andrés to turn around and leave any moment. But he doesn't. He's not moving an inch, smile still on his lips like he's wants to see what will happen next.

When his fingers touch Andrés' skin shivers seem to run from the tips to his arms and then all through his body. They have touched so many times, innocent, friendly brushes of skin against skin, but this is different. No, never innocent, Martín realizes, at least not for him, who looked for any chance to get close, and tried to avoid it at the same time, and who could feel his skin burn where Andrés had touched him even hours later.

Andrés doesn't stop him, lets him run his fingers over his face, doesn't flinch, only smiles even wider, and Martín leans in, ignoring the fear of being rejected that held him back all those years.

Their lips seem to fit together perfectly, they move in sync, and he doesn't remember anything ever feeling that _right._ He nearly sighs into it when their tongues push against each other for the first time, already burning with desire that tries to claw its way to the surface, and he feels Andrés melting into it just the same. A few seconds later he stops kissing him though, and Martin knows that he's gone too far now, that showing him how he feels was the last straw, that- and then he's suddenly pushed back.

When he hits the wall the air leaves his lungs with huff and before he can take another breath Andrés' lips are back on his. It's forceful and messy, and Martín lets him do it, lets himself be taken, be _consumed_. And he would let him do it, he'd let Andrés do anything to him, just to have this a second longer.

He clutches his hand into Andrés' hair, desperate to be closer to him, afraid he'll disappear if he doesn't force him to stay.

“It's impossible,” Andrés says, nearly inaudible, and Martín feels his heart sink. He was so close, _so close._ He shakes his head, feels a tear escape. “What you feel, I feel it, too,” he adds like it's an explanation.

“Then don't go,” Martín whispers, “Stay.”

“I have to-” And he starts to pull the hand away that cupped Martín's cheek for the last few moments.

“No,” Martín interrupts him and shakes his head in earnest now, “No, you don't. Stay.” He kisses the corner of Andrés lip, his cheek, his jaw bone, his neck. He doesn't move away any further. “Stay. Please. Stay. Stay, stay, stay.” And with every word he kisses another inch of skin, having the taste of Andrés and his own tears on his tongue which are running freely over his cheeks now.

Andrés still doesn't move, lets Martín hold onto him, lets him run his tongue over his neck, his hands wandering up and down his back.

“Stay”, Martín pleads once again, hating himself for being so pathetic, and not caring about it all the same. He takes hold of Andrés shoulders, turns them both around, so that it's now Andrés who's pressed against the wall. Like this would stop him from leaving, this weak attempted to cage him in.

There is a hint of Martín's own sadness in his eyes and Andrés touches his cheek again, ever so lightly, and wipes a tear away with his thump. “Stop this,” he mumbles and Martín doesn't know whether he talks about the crying, the begging, or the kissing, but isn't able to stop neither anyway.

He captures Andrés lips with his own and surprisingly he kisses back again, hesitantly, but unmistakably, and for the first time Martín tries to fully enjoy the feeling, and push the fear of Andrés rejecting him to the back of his mind. Want seems to rattle through his veins as soon as he focus on the other tongue touching his own, the hand on his face, the distinct smell in his nose, and he nearly starts to tremble with it.

“Let me...” he mumbles, kisses the neck once again, then the small part of the chest that isn't covered by the shirt, and sinks slowly down to his knees. He doesn't get hindered, instead a hand lands in his hair, gently stroking.

His fingers are shaking when he opens the button and fly, and he doesn't know whether it's in excitement, or whether it's his own lust that makes it hard to concentrate on such simple task.

Andrés' cock is already half hard when he pulls it out, and he feels his mouth water. Without hesitation he swallows as much as possible down and sucks slowly until he chokes on the rapidly growing erection. He leans back a few inches, catches his breath again, and enjoys the musky taste, the heavy feeling on his tongue.

How often did he picture this, how many nights did he lie awake planning to just go down onto his knees the next morning when he sees Andrés again, not giving a damn about his brother, wife, or about the fucking monks and just blow him until he realizes that Martín is born for it, _for him._ Of course he never dared to, afraid it would push Andrés away only further, and having him form afar was still better than not having him at all.

The hand in his hair pushes him back in, and he swallow Andrés' erection down again, so far that his nose hits the pelvis. He stays there for a few seconds, enjoys the feeling of _belonging_ here, and only moves again when Andrés pulls on his hair.

He uses his hand, fists the base of the erection and bops his head up and down the length, alternating between sucking and swirling his tongue. Andrés is quiet, and it doesn't surprise him at all, he always knew he'd be, but his legs tremble ever so slightly and the hand on Martín's head pulls on his hair nearly painfully now.

It doesn't last long, and forever, and not long enough at all. Martín starts to think he's going to cum himself without the hint of a touch when Andrés lets out a low, barely audible moan, and he only has time to loosen his jaw before cum is filling his mouth and runs down his throat. He never tasted something as perfect.

He keeps on sucking lazily for a few seconds, not quiet ready to let go, but does in the end since he knows how uncomfortable the overstimulation is. Panting he sinks fully onto the ground, refusing to look up, too afraid of what he's going to see there. He is painfully aware of the throbbing dick in his pants and the dried and new tears on his face, but doesn't dare to do anything about either.

Andrés fixes his clothes like he's got all the time in the world, and just as Martín's sure he's going to step over him and leave, he sinks down to the floor next to him.

“What are you doing, huh?” he mumbles and strokes Martín's cheek lightly with one hand.

He shakes his head, not knowing what to say and not able to speak.

Andrés kisses him then, just a small peck on the lips, but he feels himself melt into it all the same. Tears start to fall from his face to the floor. He wasn't even aware he started to cry in earnest again.

There are hands on his trousers, opening them effortlessly, and pushing in to take hold of his painful erection. He isn't silent when Andrés starts to move his hand up and down sloppily, he moans, and pants, and cries out. After only a few tugs he comes all over his clothes and Andrés' hand who wipes it down on Martín's trousers unceremoniously.

He sinks into Andrés then, buries his face in his chest, and waits for his body to stop shaking. “Don't leave. Don't leave me,” he whispers, soaking the shirt with his tears.

“I'm here, now,” Andrés answers, as if it's enough, as if it will _ever_ be enough. One hand lands on his back, start to rub slowly up and down. It's unexpectedly intimate.

“We're two parts of a whole, I'm nothing without you,” Martín says.

“I know,” and after a few seconds, “I do feel the same.”

He dares to look up then, into Andrés face that's barely an inch from his own. He sees a sad smile. It's nearly _affectionate._ “I love you,” Martín says.

The smile grows even sadder, “Yes,” and then Andrés is kissing him, for real this time. Martín moans like he not just came all over himself. He feels a sharp pain in his lip and after a moment realizes that Andrés bit him. It only makes him moan louder, and Andrés bites down again, this time so hard he draws blood. Martín hisses, relishing the ache, like he does with everything Andrés ever gives to him.

With a kiss to the cornor of his mouth Andrés pulls back, runs his thumb soothingly over Martín's slightly bleeding lip and says, “I'm afraid I have to tell you something.”

Martín tries to ignore the bad feeling that is coming back instantly, and only nods.


End file.
